


Reclamation

by words_reign_here



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:30:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_reign_here/pseuds/words_reign_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley kidnaps a baby angel with big blue eyes and raises him as the Prince of Hell. Castiel meets Dean in Hell and a Supernatural AU ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Many Ways In

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic was inspired by this post on tumblr: http://finaljudgement.tumblr.com/post/31283633390/supernatural-au-crowley-being-castiels

There were all kinds of ways into Heaven. The first, and most obvious: you die as a mortal. That was not an option for a man, demon, a _king_ like Crowley. You could speak to a Reaper, but those relations had been terribly strained. Or, you could torture an angel and get insider information about a back door that no one used anymore.

Crowley was running out of time; he had to get his hands on an infant from above before much longer. It had to be now. He took one last look around, the black, the rust, the blood, the decay and then left. He ended up in a small town in Turkey and took one look around before ascending up and up and up and then slightly to the left and even further up.

He arrived quietly black and wicked in a holy place. He took a deep breath and wanted to spit it back out; the purity, the beauty, laced the very air and it made him light headed. He was in a nursery, of sorts, and the children were scattered here and there. The choice itself didn’t matter; the only thing that mattered was that it was an infant; the younger, the better. A door of sorts began to open up on the other end of the room so Crowley bent, scooped up an especially chubby baby with impossibly blue eyes and equally impossibly white wings and winked out of existence

When he arrived back in his kingdom, Crowley almost immediately regretted his decision. The infant was screaming, making his ears and nose bleed. One of his nearby minions head exploded.

“This was not what I expected.” He muttered, before silencing the infant with a snap of his fingers.

…

In human years, it would be centuries later that would find Sam and Dean leaning against the Impala, drinking beer and bickering.

“I thought that you were going to fill it up, honestly, Dean.”

“And I remember telling you to fill it up while I took a leak and got snacks.” Dean said. He was on edge; he could still feel hell at the edges of his minds and the nightmares were not lessening. The fact that they still did not know what had pulled him out was probably making it all so much worse.

The Impala clicked and cooled behind them and they should have gotten a move on hours ago, but Dean liked the place where they had run out of gas. A meadow with a deep red barn was just next to them and green grass stretched forever across the street. The sun was beginning to set and was turning the grass that color of gold that you wouldn’t see anywhere else outside of the Midwest.

“Whatever.” Dean sighed, twirling the bottle in his hands. “Once the sun is down, we’ll go.”

Sam nodded and gestured to the barn. “I want to see what’s in there. Wanna come?”

Dean wanted to decline at first but the look on Sam’s face convinced him. “Yeah, sure.” He took one last long pull from his beer and they headed out. They trampled the grass down in a rough stampede and Dean began to wonder why exactly they were going to the barn. But sometimes it was just best to indulge Sam in these things, especially lately.

Halfway there, the setting sun darkened too quickly and dark clouds rolled in way too fast to be anything but suspicious. They ducked as thunder cracked above their heads.

“Your boyfriend?” Dean asked, looking around, waiting for the annoying little angel who claimed to be Gabriel.

“No, he doesn’t go for the fanfare. He just shows up and wreaks havoc.” Sam said, having long ago given up trying to convince Dean that Gabriel didn’t have any feelings for him.

“Well then this is pretty fucking weird. Let’s get inside.” But Sam paused, looking back between the Impala and the barn.

“The barn!” Dean cried out over another crack of thunder. The black clouds blocked out the sky completely now. They both turned to the barn and broke out into a run, wincing at the thunder above their heads that seemed to be growing louder by the second. They were fifty feet from the barn when a screeching sound confirmed that whatever was in those clouds was not natural.

It sounded like metal on metal except the sound kept getting higher and higher. They clapped their hands over their ears but it still brought them to their knees. Sam opened his mouth and he might have been saying something or he might have just been screaming but there was no way to know.

The screeching stopped abruptly and once more the brothers glanced back to the Impala and to the barn. The barn offered more immediate cover but the Impala had everything they would need to guard against, well, everything.

But the barn was closer by mere steps. Dean nodded to the barn and Sam dove for the doors and barreled through them. Dean ran after him.

“What the hell was that?” Dean said.

Sam wiped blood away from his ears and Dean wiped his nose hastily. Sam shook his head at Dean’s question. “I got no idea, man.”

The thunder shook the ground beneath them and they pulled down the bar that held the barn door closed from the inside and backed off. They both pulled their guns and aimed it at the doors that were shaking and rolling with the sound of the thunder above them. They tried to stand their ground, but the floor beneath their very feet was roiling and Dean was genuinely worried that they might shoot each other on accident.

The lightning and thunder and moving ground all stopped abruptly and from behind them, they heard an innocuous voice chime out, “Hello boys!” And they turned.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean demanded.

The man smiled broadly. “Glad you asked, Dean-o. The name is Crowley.”

“What the hell is up with that entrance?” Dean growled.

“No, how you doin? It’s been a long time no-see, friend.” Crowley said, that plastic smile still plastered on his face.

“I don’t fucking know you.” Dean said.

“Ah that’s a shame. I guess when you were brought back here,” Crowley said, sniffing with as much disdain as possible, “Your memories of downstairs were taken from you.”

“So that was you?” Sam asked. “What you couldn’t just come in and say hi?”

“Oh no, darling. That wasn’t me. That was my son.” Crowley’s eyes sparkled and they saw the one thing in his eyes that they had never seen in their own father’s eyes; pride. “I forgot to mention, my occupation? I’m the king of hell.” The barn shook around them again and the few lights that were still on flickered.

“As king, I need an heir. Please, let me introduce you to Castiel. Prince of hell.” Crowley licked his lips and watched their reactions. “Angel of darkness.” The barn doors behind the Winchesters flew open and the lights that had survived the previous assault blew out, sparks flying through the air. The lightning and thunder returned and both Sam and Dean tracked his movements with their raised guns.

He wasn’t as tall as either Sam or Dean but they could feel the power rolling off of him as he strode arrogantly into the barn. He bowed his head towards Crowley.

“Father.” His voice was deep and gravelly and looked like it did not belong in that slim body.

“My pride and joy.” Crowley continued. “And your future king.”

Castiel’s head remained bowed before his father but then he turned to Dean and Sam. To say they were speechless was an understatement. They exchanged panicked looks and Dean read in Sam's look probably his own question: _Prince of hell?!_  Castiel strode over to them and Castiel raised his hand and Dean flinched back, as though on instinct.

“Oh no, sweetling. We aren’t playing that game.” Castiel leaned forward, so close that Dean could smell candy-iciness on his breath. “At least not yet.” He stroked his hand down Dean’s cheekbone and his jawline and the weight of what this thing just implied hit both Sam and Dean at the same time. Dean threw an arm up to push Sam behind him as he backed up as well.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to but you got me mixed up with someone else.” Dean growled.

Castiel tipped his head to the side and there was a flash of recognition that shot through Dean. “They took his memories from him, Father.”

“A shame, I know.”

Castiel took a step forward and it was a testament to the Winchester telepathy that both Sam and Dean started shooting at the same time. They emptied both their guns into Castiel who only sighed. When they ran out of bullets there was another crash of lightning and behind Castiel black wings flared out. They took up the length of the barn and his eyes turned into a solid black. Sam found himself thrown into the far side of the barn and Dean was suddenly pulled into a too-gentle embrace.

  
“I can make you remember. I can make you remember every vile thing you did for me. To me. And everything I did for you. _To_ you.” Once more, that large gentle hand on his face and Dean shut his eyes. He heard screams. “You will show me some respect. Even if I have to bring you so low you will beg to go back to the rack.”

Then that hand was at his throat, slowly tightening. It felt like a snake throttling him, playing with its prey.

Then he was on the ground, a white light shining through his eyes lids. He sat up with a gasp, crawling backwards before he could register what his body was doing. He bumped into Sam who clung to him for a moment and they both looked up. Gabriel had shown up, probably deciding that now as a good time to play.

He grinned, just as arrogant as Castiel.

“Crowley. Got a new play-thing?” He said, gesturing to Castiel.

Crowley held Castiel back with a look but there was no escaping the posturing as Castiel’s wings flared up and back.

“Oh honey. You can put those things away. You don’t want to get into a ‘Mine’s bigger’ contest.” Gabriel snickered. Castiel did not take a word to the wise and Gabriel smirked and all of a sudden, his wings were on display. They destroyed the barn and flared up and up and out and out. Dean looked every which way to measure the distance but it seemed impossible; his brain could not gauge how big Gabriel’s wings were. Unlike Castiel’s wings though, Gabriel’s were the impossible white of untouched snow.

Gabriel’s smirked widened.

“I believe since introductions were made, we can take our leave.” And with that Crowley was gone. Castiel stared at the three of them, Sam and Dean at Gabriel’s feet, Gabriel still smiling.

“Dean.” Castiel said, and lowered his head in obeisance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel has his doubts, Castiel and Crowley commiserate, Dean refuses help and we get down to the nitty gritty. AU Season 4 spoilers-ish.

“You two sure know how to make friends.” Gabriel said. His wings pulled in and then disappeared altogether and he offered a hand up to Sam. He helped Dean to his feet as well and then snapped his fingers. The barn was up and standing once more and they left through the doors once again.

“Who was that?” Sam asked, coughing and holding his chest. His hand came away sticky and bloody and Dean felt an old panic rise up in his chest. He wanted to rush to the Impala, see where the blood was coming from but instead Gabriel put his hand to Sam’s shoulder and the blood was gone, Sam’s tshirt was knitted back together and even his hair looked a little fluffier.

“Uh, thanks.” Sam said stiffly.

Gabe smiled and nodded. “I’ll be leaving then.” And he raised his hand to snap himself away but Dean said, “No, wait!”

Gabriel paused. “Yes, Dean?”

“Who was that?”

Gabriel looked exasperated. “Exactly who he said. The King of Hell. He’s been taking care of things since Lucifer went MIA.”

“Who was the other guy?”

That gave Gabriel pause. “Who did he say he was?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look; long and measured. Dean finally nodded and Sam said, “He said he was his son, the prince of hell, the angel of darkness, the future king-“

“Did he say a name?” Gabriel pressed and there was a fever in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. His brow knitted together and he glanced between the brothers.

“Casey?” Dean guessed.

“Casa…nova?” Sam tried.

“Cash?”

“Casimir?”

“Who would name their kid that?” Dean asked.

“Who would name their Uriel?” Sam pointed out.

“Fair enough.”

“Castiel?” Gabriel suddenly thundered.

Sam and Dean jumped and turned their attention back to Gabriel. Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

He heard faintly, the screams of people tied to the rack shrieking that very name. He knew it was right. Gabriel’s eyes skittered across his face and frowned. Dean cleared his throat. “Does the name ring a bell?” He asked.

Gabriel’s lips pressed into a thin line and Dean tried his hardest to ignore the faint blush working its way up Sam’s neck.

“Yes.” He said softly. He nodded at them and left wordlessly, only the sound of wings to say goodbye.

“Frickin’ angels.” Sam said. They both started to the Impala and Dean cast one final look over his shoulder to the barn. The sky was clear and the barn looked untouched.

  
…

  
The throne room was enormous. It was cold and black, lit only by torches that burned a ghastly yellow and red. Crowley leaned back in the throne and watched Castiel pace. It was better to let him get this out of his system then to try and reason with him.

“Years and years of work. Just gone.” Castiel’s wings snapped behind him and stretched in irritation.

“We were aware that this was a possibility.” Crowley sipped at the bourbon in his hand. “But even Gabriel, with all his powers, cannot shut out the memories he has of his time spent here.”

“Gabriel hasn’t told Dean of his role here.”

“Yet, darling boy. Yet.”

Castiel stopped pacing and turned to his father. He frowned and Crowley suppressed the smirk that was threatening to ruin this moment.

“What, son?” Crowley asked.

Castiel shook his head and exited the room. He was tempted to return to the rack, observe Azazel for a while; that usually soothed him. Instead he steered away from the tortured screams of undying souls and headed to his own room.

As he approached the room, he snapped his fingers and the thirty foot high ebony doors swung open. Chains and hooks hung from his ceiling. A shelf holding a variety of collars was just to the left of the door and he paused in front of it. He ran one finger along the thick braided leather of one of Dean’s favorites. He pricked his thumb on the spikes of another. His bed was unnecessary and large but his father indulged him in these sorts of things. The black silk looked inviting and he was reminded of Dean tied up there crying and begging.

But that was no more. The Righteous Man had been called up and rescued. Just like Crowley had predicted, their plans and army had been no match compared to the army of heaven and three archangels. Dean had been pulled from the Pit and if Castiel had been given to any kind of emotion, demonic; angelic; or human, he would have sworn there was a kind of sorrow on what was left on Dean’s face when Gabriel had gripped his shoulder and pulled him up into the light.

Cas rolled his shoulders and tucked his wings in so he could lay down comfortably. He huffed out a breath and threw his arm over his eyes. Now, it was time for him to wait.

  
…

  
It was three days later and Dean was still grinding his teeth. He had been looking through books at Bobby’s place for a spell or something to get rid of the memories that were still haunting him. The screams were there, the tortures he had inflicted on other souls, the twisted look of pleasure on Alistair’s face when had completed an especially brutal torment, and this other face. Blue eyes that burned cold and lips that were hard and unforgiving.  
The books were of no help and the looks of quiet concern that Bobby and Sam kept shooting him were driving him up the wall. The morning of the fourth day, Dean slipped out of the house before sunrise and was gone before Sam could register the fact that he was alone in the living room.

There was a couple of salt and burns down south. It should have taken Dean a day, two at the most, to complete it. But when he was done, he found another and another. The itch underneath his skin would not go away and the only balm he had was to keep going; keep destroying; keep saving people to make up for the ones he tortured. He would call Sam every couple of days if only to reassure him of his continued presence on this earth but when two days turned into three weeks and Sam was demanding that he come home now, he finally acquiesced. He promised this last job, this one last kill and he would return home. Dean could feel Sam’s concern and Bobby’s stiff anger through the telephone calls and knew he had to keep his word, if just for their sanity.

So Dean found himself once more in a barn with an angry demon in front of him. He began the exorcism rite and just as the demon began to flee from the man’s body in front of him, Dean felt a kind of relief. It was one of the few fleeting moments he had of peace.

But as soon as the man slumped to the ground, demon exorcised, case closed, the tension in his muscles returned. That familiar ache at the back of his neck warned him of the impending claustrophobia that had been haunting him since he had clawed his way out of his own grave.

“This is fucking stupid.” He growled at the unconscious man at his feet. He threw what was left of his holy water on the ground.

“You shouldn’t waste your supplies.” A voice came from behind him. The muscles in Dean’s shoulders bunched but he only turned slowly. His wings were not on display this time but all the dark power that was becoming his trademark was. His dark hair was mussed as though he had just climbed out of bed but his clothes told a different story. Black on black should have been monochromatic and boring to the eye, but he wore it well. A black button up with a black tie and a black waistcoat nipped in at his slim waist and tailored black pants… the effect was not boring but rather kept Dean searching for something else. Any dash of color that could be found. Dean’s eyes kept being drawn upwards to that impossible cold blue of a thousand year old glacier.

“Thanks.” He said to the slim man in front of him. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I don’t have a couple gallons in the car.” He pushed his way around Castiel and to the exit. His phone rang shrilly in his pocket. He flipped it open and saw Sam’s name flash.

“Just finished up here, Sammy. On my way.” He closed the phone without listening to a word of what Sam might have said. The doors were right in front of him and he watched in abject misery as they swung shut.

Dean weighed his options. He knew this guy was not an angel. Gabriel had given them that small amount of information the last time he had checked in. But other than that, if he was an angel (“A real angel is kind of impossible, kiddos. We keep track of our own. No way is that guy an angel.” Gabriel had practically sneered when Sam had questioned him.) then he was impossible to kill. Maybe even immortal. He had no more holy water, no salt and only his trusty Glock which had proved to be highly ineffective last time.

“What is it that you want, man?” Dean asked, turning to face him.

The other man regarded him silently. “I want you,” He started slowly and Dean did not miss the heated glance at his mouth, “To remember.”

“I remember enough.” Dean said. “I remember everything I did to the souls down there. I remember carving them up and serving them on silver platters to Alistair. I remember you and him watching me torture them. That enough?”

He smiled and Dean shivered. It was empty and cold but still searching. “No. That’s not enough.” Then he disappeared and when Dean turned back to the front doors of the barn he found him leaning there casually. His wings were out now, black and huge blocking every part of the door. “I want you to remember everything. Everything that went on down there. Every single part that you played.”

The weight of his actions down there weighed heavily on Dean and his shoulders sagged. “I know enough. Were you the one-?“ Dean couldn’t complete that sentence. Were you the one that pulled me out of the dark? Did you cast me out of where I belonged? Did you give me this damnable second chance?

“No, that wasn’t me.” Castiel said, staring Dean down. He was fighting the urge to stare down at his shoes and speak in much lower tones than he was used to. “Why would I get rid of my favorite prodigy? You were learning all the best tricks and at an astounding rate. You were,” He paused as though he couldn’t quite find the word, “Fascinating.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witnesses rise, Dean is told a huge truth and there is not much left for him to hang onto but this creepy dark Prince that won't stop helping him.

“That’s great, buddy. But I’m headed out now so if you could just…” Dean waved at the door.

Castiel tilted his head to the side and Dean was shocked again at the familiarity of the gesture; a memory just within his reach. “If there was any way-“ Castiel began before closing his mouth.

“Any way what?” Dean prompted. The doors behind him creaked open and Dean turned to watch them swing open and when he turned back he was only left with a few black feathers floating to the ground and as an afterthought, Dean snatched one out of the air. There was no answer to his question and he cursed Castiel. He stormed out of the barn, got into his car and sped away.

His phone rang again and it was Sam. “What, dude? I told you, I’m on my way.” Dean said, irritated.

“Dean- Dean we’ve got a problem here.” Sam sounded out of breath. “Victor is here. So is Meg-“

“Demon Meg and Demon Victor, right?” Dean said, pressing a little harder on the gas. There was a horrendous crash followed by Bobby yelling something unintelligibly.

“No! I mean- at least I don’t think so. They’re ghosts. And they are – argh!”

“Sam?” Dean said, looking at his phone. It was dead. He threw it in the passenger seat, yelling in frustration. A hand reached out casually and caught it before it could fly out the window as Dean had intended. He jerked the wheel, sending the car careening into oncoming traffic.

Cas reached out his hand and pulled them back into the correct lane. “They are the witnesses. They have risen.”

“Get the fuck out of my car.” Dean said between his teeth.

“I could fly you there in a matter of seconds. You can be with your brother right now.” Castiel said.

“No.” Dean said shaking his head. “I like driving, thanks.”

“You must hurry if you will be of any use to your brother. You are many of your hours away and Sam struggles as we speak.” He stroked a finger along the window, drawing a symbol there. Castiel was bored.

“Don’t talk about him like you know him.” Dean said.

“But I do. I spent years upon years with you, dissecting your soul in to many parts and sewing it together in distorted forms. I know everything about you and in turn, Sam as well.” Castiel reasoned.

Dean did not reply. He remembered Castiel only in bits and pieces and not in the whole form that was presented in front of him. He saw, in his mind, elegant fingers holding a scalpel to a pretty girl’s face. Lips being licked in anticipation (of what?). Dark pants dripping with blood. A deep laugh, echoing in a dark place. “Leave.” Dean said, choosing to ignore the pleading in his voice.

“In time.” Castiel heaved a great sigh as though Dean’s attitude worried him. “Before I go Dean, I just want you to know that you will ask for my help. You will beg me. On your knees.” He stared at Dean for a long, unbroken moment. It was hard to decipher what was in those endless eyes. Then there was a flap of wings, Dean turned his eyes back to the road and saw the turn off to Bobby’s salvage yard. Against Dean’s permission, Castiel had transported him and his car to Sam. Dean drove through the yard to Bobby’s house and slammed to a stop at the front of the house. He threw the door open and ran to the front door. He could hear things being thrown around in the study and a steady thump above him. The door behind him slammed shut, effectively cutting off any means of escape. Dean picked up an iron poker left conveniently by the back door.

“Sam?” Dean yelled. It sounded like someone was being choked in the back of the study. Dean rushed in, to see the former Agent Henrickson screaming obscenities in Sam’s face and choking him. Sam was turning a dangerous purple as Dean swung the poker through Henrickson.

He slumped to the ground and raised a hand to his throat. “Dean? How’d you get here so fast?” He asked, his voice a worrying rasp.

“Just be thankful that I did.” Dean said, turning his attention to the steady thump from upstairs. Sam reached a shaky hand out to the salt and followed Dean upstairs. At the top of the stairs they encountered two little girls, who, under nearly any other circumstances would have been heartbreakingly adorable. However, one held Bobby down and the other held a wicked knife to his throat. They were screaming at him as well, words made unintelligible by their sheer wrath. Sam threw salt at the pair as Dean approached cautiously and helped Bobby up.

“What in the holy hell is going on around here? Hunters are dying by the ghosts of people they weren’t able to save-“

“It’s something called the rise of the witnesses.” Dean provided.

“How the hell did you know that?” Bobby asked, wincing as they descended the stairs.

Sam shot a look over at Dean who merely shrugged. “Just information I picked up on the road.”

“Hope it accurate.” Bobby said, making a beeline for a nearby bookcase and plucking a book out of his collection.

Six hours and many bruises later, the witnesses were put back to rest. Sam was asleep on the couch and Dean was staring at the ceiling above him. He could feel his eyelids get heavy and he blinked. He must have dozed off because he woke up pleasantly surprised that he wore bright green trunks and had an ice cold beer in his hand. He inclined on a beach chair and when he looked over, Sam was with him, but wearing considerably less.

“Dude, why are you in a Speedo in my dream?” Dean asked slowly.

Sam looked down from the incredibly girly and purple drink in his hand to the orange Speedo that encased his junk. He squeaked and attempted to cover up. “This is my dream and you need to leave!” Sam hissed.

“Actually, it’s not a dream, knuckleheads.” Gabriel said from a chair just next to Sam. “St. Tropez. It’s beautiful here.” He held out his beer to Dean who repeated the gesture and nodded. He took a deep swallow and peered out to the ocean. He could get used to Sammy's boyfriend if this was the kind of treatment he got by association. 

“What was last night all about, Gabe?” Dean ventured.

Gabriel was silent for a long time. Dean figured his question was just going to be added to the list of long questions that was going to go unanswered. “It was like you told Bobby. The witnesses rose. They are one of the seals that Lilith has to break to let hell loose on earth and jump start the apocalypse.” Gabe finally sighed, also staring out at the endless blue in front of him. The water looked warm and inviting and the sun heated Dean’s skin but he could still see the goosebumps on his arms after Gabriel’s answer. “There are something around six hundred seals she could choose from. All she has to do is get to sixty six of them. Once those sixty six are broken, Lucifer gets a free pass upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, but did you say the apocalypse? And Lucifer?” Sam squeaked, still trying to cover up while taking small sips from the martini glass in his hand.

“I did.” Gabe said flatly.

“And what, you and your feathered buddies were just too busy to help us out? Maybe stop them from trying to kill us?” Dean asked, looking over at Gabe.

Immediately the sky darkened and Dean was on his feet, so to speak. Gabe held him up high in the air and his feet swung helplessly against nothing. “I have fought all week trying to keep the seals from being broken. I’m not some Precious Moment statue that perches on your shoulder to keep you safe. Angels are heaven’s soldiers and archangels are God’s fiercest weapon.” Gabe tossed him aside.

Dean landed fifteen away, face first in the fine sand.

“Read the book. I have razed lands and killed millions. You think you mean anything to me?” Dean rolled over and looked over at Sam who stood up, drink and Speedo now forgotten

 “Brothers and sisters that I have known since before time began died in my arms this week. There is something out there, killing us. Demons, Lilith, Lucifer himself, we don’t know. But we are dying and our numbers are not infinite.” Gabriel strode over to Dean and leaned down and over him. Dean saw forever in his golden eyes and knew to be afraid. Especially when a cold hand reached out and stroked his hair back. “I’m forever, Dean. I’ve seen it all. I was the one who went down to hell and battled hordes upon hordes to pull you out of hell. And you will show me some respect.”

Just like that, Sam and Dean were back in Bobby’s house. Dean was shaking at the revelation but when he looked over at Sam, he realized he was shaking for a whole other reason. Gabriel had left him in the Speedo. Dean was caught somewhere between laughing and crying but instead turned for the kitchen and the whiskey Bobby kept there. He didn’t even bother with a chaser or mixer. He just began chugging from the bottle. Eventually the alcohol hit him all at once and he slid down to the ground, and hugged the bottle to his chest. He had heard Sam head upstairs a while ago and he was alone. Greedily, gratefully alone. He closed his eyes took a deep breath. Today had been overwhelming, even by his standards.

“So, it was pointed out to me that I might have been a bit harsh.” Someone said beside him.

“Is that your apology?” Dean said, his eyes still closed.

“I’m an archangel. I don’t apologize. But you can take it how you want.” Gabriel said dismissively. “But what I did come to do was,” He paused here and sighed, “Ask of you is something entirely different.”

Dean stilled, waiting for another vicious blow. Another impossible command. Another revelation. “What is it?” Dean said, his voice a rasp.

“What do you remember of your times downstairs?” Gabe asked, uncharacteristically serious.

“I remember enough.” Dean hedged, not wanting to take part in this conversation.

“Enough to replicate what you learned?” Gabe asked.

Dean finally turned to Gabriel and searched him for any tell of him joking. There was none. He sat exactly as Dean; his back against the cabinets, knees drawn up, forearms across his knees. He studied his hands as though they were the most interesting thing he had come across in all his long life. “Why, why, would I do something like that?” Dean asked, confusion evident.

“We have Alastair.”

“You guys are so out of your league.” Dean said. “This guy is a black belt in torture.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “That’s why we’ve come to his student. You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we’ve got.”

Dean’s vision clouded and he could feel the whiskey making a revisit at the back of his throat. A hand steadied him and the black dots around his vision receded. “What do I have to with it?”

“Nothing. As of yet.” Gabe studied his hands some more. “But I believe that we will need your assistance in the future.”

“I can’t.” Dean whispered.

Gabe nodded. “We need you. You are his greatest student.”

“Gabe, the things I did-“ Dean stopped himself.

“I know, kiddo.” Gabe said gently.

“Please, Gabe. Not that?” Dean asked. He liked to think that maybe Gabe didn’t hear the pleading note in his voice.

“If it were up to me…” He trailed off. “I would give anything not to ask you to do this.”

Dean ground his teeth together. “Please.” He whispered.

Gabe looked at him and before he could say anything more, they were standing in an abandoned warehouse, dark and empty. Uriel stood off in the shadows and Dean eyed him warily.

“The devil’s trap is in old Enochian. He is completely bound.” Gabriel said, both of them eyeing Alastair through the open door.

“Fascinating. Where’s the door?”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Uriel asked.

“Hitching a ride back to Cheyenne.” He nodded back at Gabe and glared at Uriel. “I’ll see you two around.” And he turned, hopefully for the last time, only to find himself facing the door where Alastair stood, chained inside once more. He looked at Gabriel. “If you make me do this, you aren’t going to like what comes back out.” Dean said angrily, feeling his shoulders tense.

“I’m sorry to ask this of you.” Gabe said again.

“But not sorry enough to let me leave.” Dean spat back at him.

“No.” Gabriel agreed. At least he had the courage to look him in the eye.

Dean looked at him hard. “You have to explain this to Sam.” He said before pushing past Gabriel and heading towards the door.

For once, Gabriel had nothing to say.

 

…

 

Castiel cloaked himself in the grey of the shadows of the corners of the room. He was not surprised that Alastair had been taken. His father was done with him and had ordered Castiel to facilitate his capture. He became only vaguely concerned when Alastair broke from his chains and began to beat Dean viciously. Castiel watched, vaguely amused before he finally sighed and shrugged off the shadows. He caught Alastair’s arm and flipped him back over his wing effortlessly where he landed on his back. Alastair was astonished to see Castiel there and opened his mouth to voice as much. Dean groaned and rolled over, only to catch sight of Castiel straddle Alastair and Castiel shush him gently before Castiel’s black wings enclosed them both and there was a startling bright light. There was a short, desperate scream and then nothing. Dean watched him through eyes swelling shut and broken teeth. Castiel brushed off his knees where he knelt on the ground and rolled his shoulders only to tuck his wings away. Dean wondered where Gabriel was but the thought left him as Castiel hunched down next to him and traced a bit of blood along Dean’s jawline.

“You don’t beg for mercy even now, pretty broken thing that you are. I admire that.” Castiel picked Dean up, cradling him to his chest.

Dean tried to protest but the only thing that came out was some sort of moan. He coughed up blood.

Gabriel finally heard something or realized he hadn’t heard anything and burst into the room. “Leave him.” Gabriel demanded.

“Never.” Castiel said mockingly, mimicking Gabriel’s smirk. “You almost broke your Righteous Man. My father always taught me to put my toys away after I’m done playing with them. What did yours teach you?”

“Castiel-“

“Don’t beg, Gabriel. It doesn’t become an archangel.”

“I’m not begging. Reasoning.”

“Be that as it may.” Castiel said in a tone entirely too reasonable.

“Castiel, before you go-“

“What, Gabriel?” Castiel sounded exasperated.

“Why are you killing angels? They are your brothers and sisters.” Gabriel blurted.

“They are nothing of the kind. And it’s not me. If my father ordered it, he would order a hundred, a thousand killed. Not seven. That states absolutely nothing.” Castiel said. It was as if he were talking about the weather. He shifted Dean in his arms and Dean cried out. “I don’t want my favorite toy to be irreparable. We must go now.” Castiel cocked his head to Gabriel and suddenly here was no longer but now here was there and Dean leaned over and puked.

He sat back on a mattress too lumpy, on a bed too small and there were wires sticking out of him. Castiel was next to him, playing Tetris on Dean’s phone.

He frowned at the beeping device in his hand. “It never gives you a pillar in your time of need.”

“Where am I?” He managed to rasp out.

Castiel glanced over at and concern knitted his brow before it smoothed over. “Mayo Clinic, Rochester.” Castiel replied. “One of the top hospitals in the continental US. I had no idea what was wrong with you.”

“Couldn’t you just angel me up?” Dean asked, already hating his current location.

“I didn’t want to waste that kind of energy on you.” Castiel said and frowned again at the phone in his hand.

Dean closed his eyes and slept. When he woke again, Castiel had loosened his black tie and Dean noticed for the first time that his waist coat was a deep blue instead of black. His jacket was slung across Dean’s legs.

“Waiting for you to heal is tedious.” Castiel said. He squinted out the window at the sunlight.

“Sorry I messed up your schedule. You can leave whenever you want.”

“I have nothing better to do.” Castiel said softly.

“I’m sure there are some souls needing your attention. What did you specialize in? Oh, that’s right. The child molesters, adulterers and rapists. Good job.” Dean pointed out.

Castiel did not answer and a pretty nurse brought soup in for Dean’s lunch. “You specialized in them as well, if I recall. Anyone who brutalized a child got your special attention for a span of time.” Castiel licked his lips.

Dean did not answer and drank his soup. “What did you tell Gabriel I was?” Dean asked.

“The Righteous Man.” Castiel was indifferent once again.

“What the hell is that?” Dean asked, pushing the soup away and leaning back. He was sore everywhere and he could feel the stitches in his lip.

“Gabriel explains nothing to you.” Castiel sighed and looked at Dean. “Did you know, down there, it hurt to look at you? Up here, in this light, which my Father created, it is tolerable. But when you stood in front of me in hell, bowed and begging, it hurt to even watch you writhe?”

“What the hell are you talking about, man?” Dean said, getting a mental image whiplash from the change in conversation.

“Your soul, Dean. It burns bright and pure. Even down in the dankest pits, it hurt to look at you. No matter what torture you inflicted on others, you were light. And can you think for a moment, why that is?”

“No clue.” Dean replied.

“You are the Righteous Man. Heaven sent army upon army for you to rescue you, but they were too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first seal, the one that had to be opened before any of the others could be broken was: The first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. Now, we all had bets how long your dad would last before he took the knife from Alastair. But it wasn’t him, Dean. It was you that we had been waiting for.” Castiel’s eyes were alight with something that Dean had never seen before. Delight? Glee? Triumph. That’s what it was. A bleak triumph that Dean was a major part of.


End file.
